


presumed dead

by killerqueenwrites



Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [8]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Platonic Soulmates, Presumed Dead, Protective Tony Stark, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, this is platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen, his second when he's thirty. He's forty-six when his third appears, and forty-eight when it fades to grey.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016994
Comments: 19
Kudos: 426
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	presumed dead

**Author's Note:**

> if you're subscribed to me, sorry for the spam you're getting. i'm reuploading my irondad bingo one-shots as individual stories to make it easier for people to find them and so they can be stories in their own right. [ they were originally posted here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/45168637)
> 
> i decided to go ahead and make this a soulmate au because why not? we’re here for the angst. it's also slightly inspired by ‘his dark materials’ because it was on tv rat the time. it's back right now and i’m falling in love with it all over again
> 
> finally (can’t believe i even have to say this ugh) this is entirely platonic

Tony dreams of fire and explosions. In the dream – nightmare, really – Peter screams for him: screams for help, screams for Tony to get back, screams in agony, in sheer gut-wrenching terror. But even as he panics, Tony is still aware that this is just a dream. He’ll wake up, and Peter will be there, just like always.

Except this time isn’t like every other time. He wakes up, and before he even opens his eyes – white hospital light burns through his eyelids – he knows something’s different. Bad. _Wrong_.

“Tony? You with me?”

_Rhodey_. Rhodey’s here. Tony rubs a clumsy hand over his left shoulder. The sense of _wrongness_ isn’t coming from there, isn’t coming from his back, so–

He gasps, the same hand flying to the centre of his chest and his eyes shooting open in the same second.

“Hey, hey, steady – Tony!”

Too late. He’s already out of bed and wobbling unsteadily across the room – he vaguely recognises the Compound medbay, but that’s the least of his worries – until he finds a mirror.

“What–?” Tony clutches at his chest. Something’s missing. Something’s wrong. “What happened?”

Rhodey freezes, his gaze fixed on Tony’s fingers scrabbling at his shirt, right above where the little spider sits. They won’t have checked, not without permission; soulmarks are sacred, private. But Tony _knows_. He can feel it.

“Where is he?” he gasps out, even as he fumbles to pull up the hem of his T-shirt.

“We don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t–?” Tony stops. If he thought he couldn’t breathe before, it’s nothing compared to now. “No. No. No no _no_ , God, no–“

“Oh, Jesus,” Rhodey hisses.

There, right above Tony’s heart – right where Peter has a matching imprint of a simplified arc reactor – his spider is fading. _Had_. Peter had a mark, too, but he’s gone. His spider’s gone.

“No,” Tony cries, and he crumples, his knees give out, he _drops_. Rhodey catches him, but what does it matter? How can anything matter anymore? The world has ended. Tony may as well lie down and die along with it.

“Breathe,” someone is saying, “c’mon, man, in and out.”

Tony _can’t_. Don’t they understand? He physically can’t. It hurts, his whole chest hurts, pain spreading out through his entire torso.

“Peter,” he gasps out, “Peter, Peter, Peter…”

* * *

Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen.

He’s sitting on his bed in his new dorm room, smaller than any room he’s ever been in, surrounded by suitcases that Jarvis hadn’t had time to unpack before he had to leave. He’s more alone than he thinks he’s ever felt.

“Ah, the elusive roommate.” The instant he hears the voice, there’s a burning pain in his left shoulder. It lasts for no more than a few seconds, by which time he’s managed to make eye contact with his roommate. _Soulmate_. “Tony Stark, right?”

“Yeah,” Tony manages, barely above a whisper.

“James Rhodes.” James palms his own shoulder, a gentle smile breaking over his face. “It’s okay. I felt it too.”

“You…you did?”

“That’s how soulmates work, dumbass.” But there’s nothing biting in his tone, only a deep fondness. Tony’s never heard anything like it. “You both get your marks. Man, my mom’s gonna be so happy when she hears about you. Welcome to the family.”

Later, in the quiet and dark of the middle of the night, they will examine their new soulmarks. Tony’s will be a strange little star in a circle, seeming to hang from something, like a medal. Rhodey’s will be a circle, too, around an inverted triangle. Over the next few years, it will become habit, instinct, for Rhodey to clap a hand on Tony’s left shoulder, and they will understand why their marks appeared there.

* * *

He’s thirty when his next mark appears. The woman from Accounting argues her way into his office, brandishing a spreadsheet with far too many figures on it for ten in the morning. The instant Happy gives up and lets her in – traitor – she stops, her hand flying to her back, right between her shoulder blades. So does Tony’s.

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Nope, just me.”

“And he’s a comedian.” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “God, my dad already hates me working for you – he’s gonna kill me.”

“Tony. Stark. In case you didn’t know.” Now he’s acting like a dickhead, but shit, he’s nervous. She’s gorgeous. How did the universe look at him and decide he deserved someone like her?

“Oh, I know,” she says drily.

“You going to tell me your name?”

“Virginia. Potts.”

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Potts.”

“I’m sure,” she says, feeling her back again.

Tony grins. “Did I hear you threatening to pepper-spray Happy?”

“…maybe.”

“Brilliant. I’m going to call you Pepper.”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Virginia is hard to say. Cut me some slack, I’m a busy man.”

“Mm, apparently so busy you can’t even make time to check your own finances.” She shoves the sheets of paper towards him. “Either someone fucked up hard down in Accounting, or something is very wrong.”

Tony just nods, already half in love with her no-bullshit attitude.

Three weeks and several awkward dates later, they will reveal their marks to each other. Pepper’s is an upside-down triangle inside a circle, resting just below the base of her neck. Tony’s, in the same place, looks like a lopsided star, or maybe a Christmas tree. It will be years before he realises it’s the shrapnel he ends up having taken from his chest and made into a necklace.

* * *

He assumes he’s done after that. Two soulmates is the norm: platonic and romantic, your best friend and your partner. One is unusual. Three is almost unheard of. So rare, in fact, that when it happens, he thinks he’s having a heart attack.

The door to the little Queens apartment opens just as Tony tries to swallow his third bite of something that could be walnut date loaf if he pretends hard enough. May Parker asks a question, the kid answers, and–

Burning in his chest, right where his heart is. Sharp, hot pain. The kid rounds the counter, rubbing his chest – oh, no.

They flee into the kid’s bedroom – either they played it off well or May is incredibly tactful – both freaking out in their own quiet way.

“Oh, my God,” the kid – Peter – breathes out, pulling at the collar of his shirt to get a look at his chest. “Oh, holy shit. Holy shit!”

“First mark?” Tony asks in a deceptively calm tone. _Third. His third_.

Peter looks up, his eyes wide and _Jesus_ , that’s adorable. “No, actually, but…it’s you!”

Tony snorts and turns away from the tangible awe radiating off the kid, opening the front of his shirt. There, right where his arc reactor used to be, right where the spider emblem lies on the new suit, is a delicate little spider.

_The suit._ _Shit_. This changes everything. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the kid’s fourteen, the universe decided that human disaster Tony Stark was the soulmate of this tiny nerdy bundle of nerves and muscle. If this thing with Steve turns to a fight – and their history of successfully talking out their problems isn’t that great – the last thing Tony needs is two of his soulmates in the mix.

“Did you know?” Peter asks, trying his best to sound offhand. “Is that why you came to see me?”

“No,” Tony says shortly. “How can I? No one knows.”

“Yeah, but you’re _you_. If anyone could figure it out, you could.” The hero-worship is honestly verging on concerning.

“I thought I was done. Already had two.”

“Sorry.” It’s barely above a whisper.

“You apologising for the universe now?” Tony finally turns, his shirt still open and showing the spider soulmark. “Let’s just cut to the chase here, all right?”

“A – a – a spider? I don’t know…why is it…?”

“I _said_ , let’s cut to the chase, Spider-ling.”

Peter sags, leaning against the wall. He might have tried to deny it for longer, but the mark on Tony’s chest – right where Peter almost certainly has a matching arc reactor – is going to be hard to explain away. “So…you here about those Accords?”

And shit, nothing has ever hit Tony as hard as that. Until five minutes ago, he’d had no reason to consider the rights of anonymous vigilantes or enhanced people outside the Avengers, but _shit_. No, Ross isn’t getting anywhere near this kid. “The Accords? No. Fuck, no. I’m here with a proposition.”

Peter tilts his head. Confused. Eager. Like a puppy.

“That web fluid. You make it yourself?”

“Yeah, I – yeah.”

“Smart. How would you – and Spider-Man, of course – feel about coming to my labs in the Tower sometimes?”

“…seriously?”

“Seriously. Whole new playground. Win-win. You get access to the best tools, tech and resources in maybe the world. I get a little minion and also the opportunity to make sure my soulmate doesn’t get himself killed by swinging around Queens in a onesie.”

“It’s not a onesie.”

“Still waiting for your answer.”

“Oh! Yes. Yes, please. That would be awesome.”

They don’t need to work out what their marks mean, don’t need to spend years wondering what Peter’s arc reactor or Tony’s spider could possibly signify. It will be only two years later when Tony’s mark turns grey.

* * *

Somehow, Tony ends up back in bed, tears drying stickily on his face. He’s empty, hollow, everything that mattered carved out of him with only a painful void left behind.

“Did he…?”

“Kid’s gone,” Rhodey says, his voice choked. “The mark is…”

The other person sucks in a trembling breath. “I’ll…call Nat and Sam. They’re still looking – still expecting to find him alive–“

“Oh, shit,” Rhodey breathes, “Rogers, this is going to kill him.”

It wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a nightmare. Tony remembers the mission, remembers Peter yelling for him to stay back, remembers the explosion. And now his spider is just a dull grey mark over his heart, a smudge of ash. It won’t fade completely though; no, he’ll carry this weight, this failure forever. Inches. He was _inches_ from the kid, could have sworn their fingers brushed.

Maybe the universe did get it wrong. Maybe he was never meant to have three soulmates. Maybe the universe decided it needed to take one away. If he could, and if he didn’t know that it would kill Pepper, Rhodey and Peter, if he didn’t know that they’d die like he’s dying now – if there was any way to, he’d switch places with the kid in a heartbeat. But he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the nothingness, “I’m sorry, little spider, come back. Please come back.”

* * *

May Parker is the first person, besides Pepper, Rhodey or Peter, that Tony willingly shows one of his marks to. (Yinsen had seen them, but Tony’s going to give him a free pass for that one.)

She stares at it for a long moment, only uttering a quiet, “Oh,” as her hand comes to rest on her torso, her ribcage. Tony knows – or thinks he knows, from what he inferred from Peter – that when Ben died, she lost her soulmate, or one of them. She knows what a faded mark looks like.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out when she doesn’t say anything else. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Tony,” she murmurs, “I know you would have done everything you could. It’s not your fault.”

“But he was your kid.”

Deep sadness settles behind her eyes, the same heavy grief that’s resting on Tony’s chest. “He was yours, too. He was your _soulmate_ , Tony, I–“ She breaks off, takes a deep breath. “It’s the two…worst things in the world. I can’t even imagine…”

“I can’t, either,” Tony says honestly. “It’s too…big.”

“I know.”

He rubs his hand over the mark again, wincing at the now-familiar throb of numbness. “I don’t – what was the point? What was the point of any of it?”

“He loved you so much, Tony,” May says, fingers still ghosting just above her ribcage. “You made him happy. Isn’t that enough?”

It has to be. It has to be, or he’ll lose the rest of his mind.

* * *

_five months later_

“Tony.”

He doesn’t need to look to know that Steve’s hovering awkwardly in the door; he can practically feel the hesitation rolling off him.

“What is it?” Tony rubs the centre of his chest, an unconscious movement. Five months, and he still carries Peter with him, everywhere, every day. “Why do you look like that? What have you broken?”

“We have a lead.”

“A lead,” Tony repeats flatly. “Said like I’m supposed to know what you’re talking about.”

“The breakaway group, Tony. The one – that mission, where–“

_Explosions. Fire. Screams_. Tony’s hand clenches spasmodically over his heart. “Where are they?”

“Pretty much the same place – can’t believe we didn’t check harder, but we were all…you know.”

Tony does. He does know. “When are we leaving?”

Steve sighs. “First thing tomorrow, but are you sure you’re up for this?”

“They took my kid away,” Tony snarls, bares his teeth. “I want to hurt them back.”

Steve does a piss-poor job of hiding his wince. “Peter wouldn’t want–“

“Peter’s dead!” Tony roars, and this time Steve does flinch. What? It’s not like Tony had too much opportunity to wallow in the ‘denial’ stage of grief, not with the echo of a spider on his chest. “It doesn’t matter what he’d want! He’s gone, and it’s their fault.”

“He’d want you to be happy, Tony. At least to try.”

“How? Seriously, Rogers, how the fuck?”

“I didn’t come down here to give you therapy, Tony. Seven tomorrow morning.”

As soon as he’s gone, Tony groans, instantly regretting yelling. He could go after Steve, apologise, try and not come across quite so unhinged. Instead, he turns back to his workbench, steadfastly ignoring the empty desk tucked in the corner of the lab.

He rubs his chest again. “Five months tomorrow, kid. God.”

* * *

The Quinjet leaves at seven, as promised – Tony wouldn’t have put it past Steve to leave at six just to leave him behind. Rhodey sits beside him, occasionally shooting him worried glances that Tony steadfastly ignores.

“Ten minutes out,” Natasha says tersely. “They’ve moved out of the main compound into the underground section, which might explain why we couldn’t find them last time…” She trails off. “Rogers is covering me while I get to their control room and download all their files. The rest of you, go to town.”

No one argues.

* * *

_“Positions, everyone?”_ Steve calls.

“In the air,” Tony grunts.

_“Kicking ass,”_ Rhodey adds.

Steve’s eye-roll is audible. _“Informative, thank you.”_

_“Stark?”_

“What’s up, Wilson?”

Sam seems to take a steadying breath before he answers. _“You might wanna get down here.”_

“Why?”

_“Just…you won’t believe me unless you see it.”_

“You wanna be any more cryptic?” Tony rolls his eyes. “Fri, find me the Birdman, will you?”

_“Go, I got this,”_ Rhodey says.

“Thanks, man.” Tony lands with a huff of effort and fights his way through the remaining guards almost on autopilot. FRIDAY highlights the quickest way to Sam – only a couple of corridors – and he follows it, every inch of him burning with fury. These are the people who took Peter away from. They killed his child, killed his soulmate.

He rounds the corner, his eyes instantly drawn to a white light emanating from the room at the end.

_“Corridor’s clear, Boss.”_

“Thanks, girl.” He folds his helmet back.

_“I can’t get a reading for Sam Wilson.”_

“Dammit.” Tony strides down the corridor. “Wilson?”

“I’m in here!” His voice is coming from the white room.

“Wilson, what–?” Tony stops dead. There’s another person in the room, cowering behind Sam, their clothes dirty and tattered. Except…not clothes. A suit. Familiar red and blue. “What the fuck?”

“See?” Sam says, but he isn’t talking to Tony. “I told you. They lied.”

“But…” the person whimpers, and God, that voice, “my mark – it went grey, and–“

“FRIDAY, scan,” Tony manages. He’s going to pass out or throw up or scream. “Scan him. Them. Whatever, just do it.”

_“Something is interfering with my scanners.”_

“Then how the hell did Wilson–?”

“I radioed from outside the door.” Sam takes a step towards the hallway, out of the strange white room; the mere sight of it sends ice trickling down Tony’s spine. “Come out of the room, kid, come on. One step at a time.”

Every nerve in Tony’s body is numb, every neuron completely short-circuiting. This shouldn’t…it can’t…

Except this person looks like Peter, sounds like him, even has the brown curls like him. But Tony’s mark is dull and faded like an old tattoo, and the marks know better than anyone. They’re the confirmation of the moment a search and rescue becomes a search for a body. They can record the time of death better than doctors, better than any equipment. Peter’s dead, and Tony had no reason to think otherwise.

Until Sam steps out of the door and the person behind him follows, and Tony’s chest starts to burn. Sharp hot pain.

“Oh, my God,” he breathes, and almost falls over with how fast he wrenches himself out of the suit. “Oh, God – shit. _Shit_.”

It’s back. He knows without checking. His little spider is back.

Which means that…

“Peter,” he gasps, and Peter runs, colliding with him so hard they both stumble backwards and crash to the floor. Peter’s sobbing, horrible wrenching cries that seem to tear out of him, but so is Tony, because Peter had been dead, he was dead, and Tony is holding him. It makes no sense. It makes all the sense in the world.

“Tony,” Peter cries, “Tony, Tony, Tony–“

Peter Parker is alive and breathing in his arms; for the first time in months, Tony takes a full breath.

“Peter. Peter.” A relieved kiss pressed to the top of the kid’s head, then his temple, then his cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hands are gripping Peter’s shoulders so hard it must hurt, but that means he’s _here_ , solid, warm, alive. “How – what–? God, kid. _Kid_.”

_“Stark?”_ Natasha shouts over the comms. _“Tony, you need to see this. The research they were doing – it was suppressing soulmate connections. They have data starting five months ago, Tony, you need to–“_

“We got him,” Sam says quietly. “We got the kid. He’s alive.”

_“He’s_ what _?”_

“Mute,” Tony croaks, and the sudden cacophony of voices cuts out. They don’t matter. All that matters is Peter’s weight on his chest, the sudden awareness of his mark _being there_ once again. “Peter, Peter, Peter…”

“I thought you were dead,” Peter manages, words muffled in Tony’s shoulder. “I could feel my mark – it was gone, and they said no one was coming to look for me – you were _gone_.”

“No, look, look.” Tony is vaguely aware that Sam has moved away, leaving them in their own little world, but he doesn’t care. He drags his T-shirt up, cups Peter’s face, gently turns his head. “Look at it, Pete. That’s you. You see it? That’s you. It means we’re both here, kid. Both here. I’m right here.” He’s babbling nonsense now, like he’s talking to a small child or a frightened animal, but it’s working; Peter’s frantic, desperate gasps are slowing, calming. His teary eyes meet Tony’s and it hits him, like a punch in the stomach, that his kid is _alive_.

Peter gasps suddenly and breaks away, fingers scrabbling at his side until he finds a rip in the suit and pulls the fabric away from his skin. A delicate black flower is sitting on his hipbone, just as clear and dark as a mark should be. “Oh. Oh, thank God.”

“You thought…?”

“What else was I supposed to think?” Peter runs shaking fingers over the mark. “I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers. Shit, Peter might not even know who this person is, might have only passed them in a packed high school corridor or on a busy street, and he thought he’d lost them, too. He’s too young for this. “It’s okay, I’m here. Whoever they are, they’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now, kiddo.”

Peter wordlessly taps the front of his suit and pulls when it comes loose, revealing the arc reactor lying boldly on his chest. When they see it, both of them start crying again.

* * *

Rhodey arrives maybe minutes later, maybe hours. He takes one look at them, both sitting up now but still clinging to each other with no intention of letting go, and kneels down, puts one hand on Tony’s left shoulder, the other in Peter’s hair. For the first time in months, Tony breathes.

“Let’s get you home, kid,” Rhodey says gently. “Can you walk?” He reaches out, as if to help Peter to his feet but freezes when the kid jerks away and almost smacks his head into the wall. “Okay, okay. No touching. Got it.”

“Sorry,” Peter whispers, “sorry, I…”

“You don’t need to apologise, kid.”

“They, um…” Peter rubs his chest, the same movement that’s become second nature to Tony. “They touched them.”

It takes Tony’s relief-drunk brain a second to catch up, but he does, his words rip out of him in a furious snarl. “They _what_?”

No. _No_. Soulmarks are sacrosanct. They’re private, intimate. They shouldn’t be looked at without permission, much less touched and handled and felt. He silently begs to have misunderstood, pleads that it’s anything other than that.

But Peter just nods, keeps going. “They said they were doing tests – experiments. They just – they kept doing it, and whenever I cried or shouted or tried to fight, they just nodded and wrote it down, and–“ His next breath catches on a sob. “It was wrong. I can’t explain it, but it was _bad_. They shouldn’t – that’s not for them.”

Tony reaches out and puts his palm over Peter’s arc reactor. Their shuddering breaths ease up, slow down in sync. “That’s me,” he says. “You feel that?”

Peter’s contented hum is answer enough.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, and gently takes one of Peter’s hands and places it on his chest. It’s instantly reassuring, just like when Rhodey claps him on the shoulder, when Pepper rubs the back of his neck, so much so that Tony’s eyes start to well with tears again. Their soulmarks are for them, and them alone. “I got you, kid.”

This time, Peter lets Rhodey help him to his feet, one hand still gripping Tony’s arm like it’s his only lifeline while the other hits the front of his suit to tighten it again. “Home?”

“Home. And we’re _staying_ home, kid, you hear me? I’m talking couch days. Movie nights. Pizza parties. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

Peter smiles, that wonderful smile that Tony’s sorely missed. “I think I can live with that.”

“Oh, you can? I want that in writing. Rhodey’s here as a witness.”

“Don’t care,” Peter mumbles, and ducks under Tony’s arm to huddle into his chest. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, kid. So much.”

“It hurt.” Peter looks up at him, as if for confirmation. “Like…”

“Like someone scooped out my chest and left a shell behind.”

“Yeah. Like that.” Peter rubs his knuckles over his chest. “Like I couldn’t breathe.”

Tony inhales deeply and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I got you, buddy. I’m here. My little spider.”

“Ugh.”

“Underoos?”

“Nope.”

“Webs? Web-doodle!”

“No!” Peter laughs, butting his head into Tony’s shoulder. Solid. Here. Alive.

Tony cups his face, just to make sure, rubs his thumb over Peter’s cheek, brushes his hair back.

“How…how long?”

“Five months.”

“Oh, _shit_.”

“I know, I know, it was…” _Hell. Worse than hell. A waking nightmare with no sign of an end_. Tony shakes himself. “Let’s, uh, let’s go. Kinda hung up on the team. Should probably, I don’t know, talk to them.”

“Oh, you think?” Rhodey mutters as they start a steady shuffle towards the end of the corridor, Tony’s arm tight around Peter’s shoulders. “Cap’s swearing bad enough to turn the air blue. Even Clint’s blushing.”

“He can stay mad.”

“He might hold you to that.”

When was the last time he joked with Rhodey like this? When was the last time he so much as cracked a smile? It’s like an entire third of his heart has been replaced just as abruptly as it was torn away; he’s brimming with relief and joy and _love_.

Peter squints when they step out into daylight, his nose scrunching up, and turns his face into Tony’s shoulder. Tony loves him loves him loves him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, because maybe he needs to hear it again. Maybe Peter does. His spider’s back. Peter had been dead, and now he’s not. Tony has his soulmate, has all of his soulmates, and he gets to watch Peter grow, change, find his other soulmate. He loves him.

The universe was right. It always is. There was a point to this, to them.

“You got me,” Peter agrees.

Tony can _breathe_.

**Author's Note:**

> add this to the ongoing saga of ciara can't write endings
> 
> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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